


Feel Like a Monster

by IcyPanther



Series: Fic of the Month [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Protective Keith (Voltron), Scared Keith (Voltron), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23106067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: It was just supposed to be a fight. Maybe not entirely for the right reasons, but Keith had known how it was supposed to go. They’d fight, he’d win and Lance would never bother him again.  But that wasn’t how it had gone at all. And as yellow tinted eyes and sharp fangs set in a  blood splattered, horrified face — the face of aGalra— stared at Keith in the sheen of his blade he realized that wasn’t himself looking back.It was a monster. He’d unleashed a monster.And Lance had paid the price.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron)
Series: Fic of the Month [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660933
Comments: 55
Kudos: 500





	Feel Like a Monster

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** early season three  
>  **Warning notes:** some blood and injury

_The secret side of me, I never let you see  
_ _I keep it caged but I can't control it  
_ _So stay away from me, the beast is ugly  
_ _I feel the rage and I just can't hold it_

 _It's scratching on the walls, in the closet, in the halls  
_ _It comes awake and I can't control it  
_ _Hiding under the bed, in my body, in my head  
_ _Why won't somebody come and save me from this, make it end?_

 _I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin  
_ _I must confess that I feel like a monster_  
_I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun  
I must confess that I feel like a monster_

~Monster, Skillet

“Wowww,” came a drawl accompanied with a low whistle. “What did that training dummy ever do to you?”

Keith looked up, concentration broken by the intrusion, and glared at said intrusion in the form of Lance through sweat-soaked bangs.

Lance had the gall to wave at him with a cheeky grin.

“Not in the mood, Lance,” he bit out, turning back to the yes, very decimated dummy but Coran had restricted his time to the simulations and so he had to make do. 

“You’re always in a mood,” Lance countered. 

Keith bristled but said nothing as he moved back to his starting location. Lance wasn’t entirely wrong and Keith knew he’d been… less than sociable, even than normal. 

But how the fuck could they all still have game nights and joke around when Shiro was missing? How could they not be devoting every free minute to training, to looking, to _finding Shiro?_

It pissed Keith off.

It pissed him off so much.

So he’d tried to do the responsible thing; keep to himself and not take it out on the team and instead he unleashed his frustrations and despair and _anger_ at the situation in training. But then Coran had to go and get worried that he was spending too much time doing so and had locked him out of the sims after three hours a day and so here he was; beating up stuffed dummies because he had no one else to fight.

If Shiro had been here…

He shoved the thought away.

If Shiro had been here he wouldn’t be fighting training dummies for hours in the first place.

“—came all the way down here for a reason, I’ll have you know,” Lance was still talking and had now walked _into_ the training area. “And it wasn’t to look at the back of your sweaty mullet.”

“What?” it came out more a snarl than Keith wanted but he wasn’t feeling very inclined to be polite.

“Sheesh, so grumpy.”

“Lance…”

“Fine fine,” Lance flapped a hand in a “calm down” gesture and Keith only felt his hackles raise further. He had no patience for Lance’s antics on a good day and today was most definitely not a good day. 

He hadn’t had a good day in a long while.

He wouldn’t have one until he’d found Shiro.

“Allura wants us all on the transmission call after dinner,” Lance said. “Full armor, all scrubbed up and presentable and since someone,” Lance gave him a pointed look, “has been holing himself up in the gym and _not_ answering his transmitter I figured I’d be a nice guy and come down to give warning before Allura chews you out when you inevitably miss it.”

“Great. Anything else?”

It was Lance’s turn to bristle, eyes narrowing and he took another step into the room. Keith resisted the urge to take one back as the other boy came closer and closer into his personal space. 

“A thank you would be nice.”

“Then thank you.”

“Geez, man, what is your problem?” Lance was just a few paces away now, feet planted and hands on his hips. 

“What’s yours?” Keith fired back. 

“Mine?” Lance gaped. “My problem? My problem is you, mullet. Here I am trying to do you a favor and you act like I’m inconveniencing you.”

“You are,” Keith said bluntly. 

“Well excuse me,” and there was a note of something not anger in the words but Keith wasn’t sure what it is and it just made his waning patience shorter. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, your royal mullet-ness and saving your butt. Allura would have been—”

“I don’t give a fuck what Allura wants,” Keith interrupted. 

He didn’t.

She was the reason they weren’t spending every day, every _hour,_ looking for Shiro. It was alliances this, distress beacons that, and despite all Keith had looked into it he could not drive the castle and Red could only go so many days without her charging station rendering him going solo on his search impossible.

Allura made the decisions around here now and he didn’t like them.

He knew it wasn’t her fault Shiro was missing, not her fault that none of their leads had panned out, not her fault that the universe still needed Voltron, but…

But he was so _angry_ and _frustrated_ and he needed someone to blame for the lack of progress.

Someone to _fight_.

“Don’t talk about Allura like that!” Lance bit back, hands now in trembling fists at his sides. 

“I’ll say whatever the hell I want,” Keith snarled, fingers digging into his palm around the sword hilt. “All she cares about are meetings and alliances. Fuck them. Fuck her.”

“Take that back.” Lance’s voice was low, dangerous.

Keith welcomed it.

He welcomed the new direction to unleash his anger. 

“No.”

“Take. It. Back.”

“No.”

Keith felt something he hadn’t felt in a long while as flashing ocean eyes zeroed in on him.

Excitement.

Dangerous, reckless excitement.

He was going to _fight._

“I’ll make you.”

And the challenge was issued.

Keith’s blood sang.

“You can’t beat me,” he answered, watching as Lance’s eyes flashed again. 

“Watch me,” Lance scowled, stalking over to the side of the training room where spare weapons were kept. He selected a sword, thinner and longer than Keith’s bayard, and strode back. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t even know how to fight with that,” Keith scoffed even though he made no motion to release his own blade. Lance wanted to fight with a sword? They would fight with swords and he would make him regret it, regret interrupting him and insulting him and thinking he ever stood a chance.

He pushed away the niggling thought that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t what Shiro would want him to do.

Shiro wasn’t here.

Lance was.

And they were going to fight and maybe, when it was over, some of the anger coursing through him would be released.

“I’ll figure it out,” Lance slashed it in the air in front of him. “And when I win you’ll take back what you said.”

“And when I win you won’t ever bother me again.”

“Fine,” Lance growled. 

“Good.”

Keith turned his bayard around, the grip a little strange, but even he knew how dangerous it would be to fight with live steel against an opponent of Lance’s (complete lack of) skill. Lance mimicked him.

“First to yield,” Lance announced.

“Don’t cry when you do,” Keith warned.

“Same to you.”

And Lance charged.

He was _fast,_ long legs eating up the ground and sword angled to the side so he didn’t slice his own foot.

Keith’s teeth pulled into a sharp grin.

Maybe this would be an actual fight after all.

He raised his own sword and caught Lance’s with a sharp _clang,_ reverberations running down Keith’s arm.

It had been a more powerful hit than he’d expected.

Good.

He wanted to _fight._

Keith easily disengaged his sword, shifting his weight and bringing it around for a counter strike, the flat of the blade _smashing_ into Lance’s side and sending him stumbling to his knees with a gasp. 

“Is that it?” Keith taunted as Lance pulled himself back to his feet. 

“You wish.”

Lance went in for another hit, this time swinging high and Keith blocked once again.

He was unprepared for Lance’s foot plowing into his stomach.

“What the hell?” he gasped, taking a few steps back and resisting the urge to curl over. 

Lance smirked. “Never said it was just a sword fight, did we?”

Keith’s eyes narrowed.

No, but it was implied. Fighting as Lance had was…

Was _dirty._

But…

_Yes._

This. 

This was what he wanted.

What he needed.

He didn’t have to hold back now.

And with a roar of his own Keith engaged.

It was a dance of metal and blades and gasps and grunts as Lance fought with every part of him; legs and knees and elbows and once even his head.

Keith countered in kind.

He didn’t just aim for Lance’s sword as one normally did.

He went for his legs. 

Those were the most dangerous weapon Lance had and they were _strong._

And as the fight dragged on he pulled his second blade.

The luxite warmed his hand, an energy he couldn’t explain flowed through him as the sigil of the activated blade lit up.

It was invigorating.

It was intoxicating.

Keith lost himself to it, to the melody of battle and to the singing of the blades.

He struck out again and again, the crash of blades in rhythm with his pounding pulse.

Again.

More.

Strike, strike, _strike._

“—eith, wait—”

Surrender.

He could taste it.

Go. Push harder.

Victory or...

“—yield, Keith, I—”

Victory or _death._

He heard a yell.

His blood screamed for more.

They were still standing.

Take them _down._

“—Keith, please, pl—”

His opponent stumbled.

And Keith struck.

Something _cracked._

Someone _screamed._

Blood _spattered_ across Keith’s face.

And reality came back as a nightmare.

Lance was on the ground in front of him, curled on his side, his right hand clasped around his upper left arm.

Crimson gushed from it.

What…

What had he…?

Keith glanced down at his swords.

Red dripped from the luxite.

Yellowed eyes, fangs and a crimson splattered face were reflected in the sheen of his bayard.

Galra.

_“You fight like a Galran.”_

Keith dropped both with a horrified clatter.

No.

No.

This wasn’t…

He wasn’t like that…

This was…

He hadn’t meant...

Lance let out a choked sob and it yanked Keith back to the present.

“L-Lance,” he took a hesitant step forward.

Lance curled up tighter, ducking his head further against his chest.

Protecting himself.

From _Keith._

What had he done?

“Lance, I… I’m…”

He swallowed thickly.

He tasted blood.

Lance’s blood.

God.

Oh God.

Another choked sob filled the otherwise silent room. 

Keith sank to his knees a few feet away, tremors wracking his own body and his heart beat pounding in his ears.

God.

He’d…

It wasn’t…

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

He hadn’t meant to.

He’d never wanted to… to hurt Lance.

Not like this. Never like this.

“Lance,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m so s-sorry.”

Lance needed medical attention immediately. A pod for sure.

He…

He hadn’t cut off the other boy’s arm, had he?

A new shiver went down Keith’s spine.

“Lance,” the name out desperate. “Lance, please, I… I…”

He shuffled closer, reaching out a shaking hand and placing it on the upturned shoulder.

Lance immediately went stiff.

“Please,” Keith whispered. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking. 

To let him look at it?

For Lance to even _look_ at him?

For Lance to _trust_ him?

God.

God.

He wouldn’t trust himself after what he’d just done.

“Lance, please,” he pleaded. “I… I want to help.”

And Lance finally lifted his head, uncurling ever so from his huddle.

Tears dripped from ocean eyes and his lip trembled.

“Keith,” he whimpered.

His hand spasmed on his arm and he let out a low moan as more blood squeezed out between his fingers.

“Can I…?” Keith’s hands hovered. 

Lance achingly slow released his white-knuckled grip.

A new torrent of red streamed down his arm and he tightened it again with a sob.

Keith caught a glimpse through the ripped shirt.

It…

It was bad.

The wound started at Lance’s bicep and ran down to Keith would guess about his elbow, deeper at the top and less so the further it stretched as Lance had likely pulled back as Keith tried to…

Tried to _slice him open._

He was lucky it had been the arm.

An arm Lance had likely blocked with.

He…

He had been aiming for…

For Lance’s heart.

He’d have…

God.

God. 

Later, Keith shoved that new horror aside. Deal with it later.

Instead he pulled his shirt over his head, sweat-soaked as it was it was a better compress than nothing and he desperately needed to at least halt the bleeding until Lance could get into a pod. He used to read emergency field manuals as a kid before Pop had… and, well, he knew enough. 

He could at least fix this.

“Lance, I… I need you to let go. Just, just for a second. Okay?”

Lance shook his head.

“Lance, please. Please, I’m so sorry. I, I can help.”

Lance shouldn’t trust him. Not one bit.

Lance released his grip.

Keith lurched forward, pressing the shirt to the deepest section and hurriedly wrapping it around twice before his own hands clamped down, applying more pressure than Lance would be capable of right now.

Lance let out a choked sob and weakly tried to pull away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Keith repeated it as though it would ever be enough. “I’m so sorry.”

Lance didn’t say anything else.

Keith didn’t expect him to.

He never expected Lance to speak to him ever again.

“H-hold on,” and the stutter scared him almost as much as the way he could feel blood soaking into his gloves. “I’m gonna get help. Keep… keep pressure on it.”

He guided Lance’s other hand back to where it had once been, pressing long blood-stained fingers into his shirt.

He took off across the room where he’d dumped his jacket. 

In the pocket was the transmitter.

If he’d just answered it the first time…

He hit the first person on his contact list, hands shaking too badly to type. 

A few seconds later Hunk’s face appeared on screen.

“Keith?” he sounded confused and Keith didn’t blame him as it’s not like he’d ever called anyone before. “What is— whoa! Dude! Is that blo—?”

“Lance,” Keith choked out the name.

He didn’t have any right to say it.

“He’s hurt. He, he needs a pod. Now.”

Hunk’s face, which had been developing a green tinge, went pale instead.

“Lance?” he repeated. “Lance is—”

“Pod, Hunk,” Keith snapped, not even able to regret the tone as he was so _scared_ and Hunk gave a jerky nod.

“I’ll get Coran.”

“Meet you in the infirmary.”

Keith hung up before Hunk could ask anything else.

It’d be better for someone — Hunk or one of the Alteans — to carry Lance but that would waste precious time.

Keith could do this.

He picked up his jacket and ran back to where Lance was still curled up.

He was pale beneath his tan. 

“We’re going to the infirmary,” Keith announced, his voice steadier than he felt. “I’m going to carry you. Just… just hold on.”

Please hold on.

Keith wrapped his jacket on the lower part of the wound Lance wasn’t gripping, the white of the cloth immediately turning dark and he knew ruining it.

Ruining the first present Shiro had ever given him, the one that meant so much.

He didn’t care.

He slipped an arm beneath Lance’s torso and another at the bend of his legs, awkwardly having to bend over to do so as Lance had drawn them up to his chest again. 

“Okay,” he said as much to warn Lance as to prepare himself. “Here we go.”

He surged to his feet, nearly dropping Lance as he frantically tried to readjust his weight and his nails dug into the other boy’s back, no doubt leaving scratches through the shirt.

Lance shuddered but offered no protest.

His injured arm was pinned beneath his own body and Keith’s chest, applying even more pressure and Lance leaned forward, head pressing into the crease between Keith’s shoulder and chest and helping balance out his weight. 

Keith took off at a run.

He didn’t even remember getting to the infirmary.

All he remembered were Lance’s harsh breaths against his bare skin, the whimpers and cries he couldn’t hold in, and the overwhelming smell of blood that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be rid of.

He’d stood by in numb shock as Coran had lifted Lance from his arms, as Hunk, green-tinged but steady handed, had helped maneuver Lance into a cryosuit. He continued to stand there, everything a haze, as they’d put him into the pod — and he was crying again and he looked so _scared_ around the pain — and Allura had arrived, voice shrill with worry and then harsh as she demanded answers.

Answers Keith couldn’t give.

And he…

He ran.

And as he stared at himself now in the bathroom mirror, face scrubbed clean and eyes and teeth as they had always appeared before, Keith knew what lay beneath the mask.

There was a monster under his skin.

And he was terrified of him.

xxx

“Hey.”

Keith flinched at the soft address.

He didn’t move from his near perch in the high beams above the bridge, offering a look into the endless abyss of space.

He deserved whatever was coming.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Lance continued. “The deepest, darkest and hardest to get place in the entire castle.”

There were careful footsteps on the beam and Keith felt more than saw Lance sit down next to him on the platform, swinging his legs into the depths. 

“Beautiful view, huh?” Lance remarked and Keith saw him tip his head back as though to get a better glimpse of the stars.

All he could see now was how it bared the vulnerable throat, how easy it would be to rip it out.

He really was a monster.

“What are you doing here?” Keith asked quietly, hands tightening on the beam as though afraid they would act without his consent and follow through on his observation. 

Lance let out a soft snort. “What do you think?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m worried about you.”

Keith’s head whipped around.

What?

“What?” he croaked out. 

“Are you okay?” Lance asked in that still too soft, too understanding voice, as though he’d somehow forgotten Keith had tried to _kill him_ yesterday. Lance had spent nearly twelve hours in the pod, torn ligaments and muscles and flesh being put back together and his body recovering from the shock of the blood loss. Keith only knew that because he’d snuck into the infirmary to read the output on the pod as he was too ashamed to show his face to the others right now but had to check on Lance, had to make sure he was going to be all right.

If only Shiro could see him now.

“You should go,” Keith said.

Before he hurt him again.

“Nah,” Lance leaned back far too casually, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“Lance—”

“Did you want to?” Lance interrupted him. He finally turned his head, whites of his eyes bright in the darkness. “Did you want to hurt me?”

“I tried to _kill you,”_ Keith choked out.

“But did you want to?”

Keith mutely shook his head. 

“Then it’s okay.”

Keith gaped.

And then he shook his head.

No.

This was all wrong.

“Did the pod mess up your memory?” he snapped. “I tried to _kill you,_ Lance. I went fucking Galra and I… I…”

“Yeah, the yellow eye thing was new,” Lance nodded.

He didn’t rise to the bait, to the anger that earlier Keith had bled onto him and practically goaded him into a fight. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Nothing,” Lance smiled far too easily. “And nothing is wrong with you either.”

Keith had no idea what to say.

Lance had brain damage. That had to be it. 

Another thing he could take responsibility for.

“Look,” Lance let out a breath, leaning forward. “What happened was… admittedly terrifying. But… but I think it needed to happen.”

Keith stared.

“Not the me getting hurt part, I’d have liked to avoid that,” Lance said quickly. “But… but you’ve been holding things in, man. Too much. Ever since Shiro—”

Keith stiffened.

“Exactly,” Lance nodded. “Ever since Shiro disappeared you’ve been like that. Angrier. More defensive. And, and we should have talked before it got to that point. You shouldn’t have been hurting all alone like that to where it just… blew up.

“It was my fault too,” Lance said, voice softer. “This isn’t just on you. I pushed when I should have pulled back and—”

“No,” Keith interrupted. “No. Don’t try and blame yourself for what I did. I attacked you. I… I went berserk, Lance. I… I didn’t hear you until you screamed.”

Until he’d felt hot blood splatter his face.

He hadn’t even been aware he’d been going for the kill until he had.

“And, and I can’t trust myself,” Keith continued quickly before Lance could say anything to the contrary. “I don’t know what happened. I could have killed you if you hadn’t blocked and even then… I hurt you. And, and I wish I could say it’s because I’m part Galra but that’s… that’s not it. I’m just…” he let out a shuddering breath. “I think I’m just a…” he swallowed, voice barely audible to even himself. “A monster.”

Quiet reigned.

Keith hunched his shoulders, waiting for Lance to finally see the truth.

“I don’t think you’re a monster.”

He jerked his head up.

“And I trust you.” Ocean eyes bored into amethyst. “With my life.”

The life Keith had almost just ended.

He shook his head in denial.

“You’ve saved my butt so many times out here,” Lance said quietly. “You’ve helped so many people. I’ve seen who you are beneath that prickly, defensive mullet exterior. You’re a good person, Keith. And one instance is not going to change my mind. I trust you and _nothing_ will ever change that.”

Keith was alarmed to feel a stinging sensation in his eyes.

Lance sent him another soft smile and then clambered to his feet. “I think it’s about time for dinner and Hunk was making my favorite space chili. You hungry?”

Keith hadn’t eaten in over a day; he was famished.

He settled for a tiny nod.

“Then come on,” Lance extended his hand down. “Time for us to get going.”

Keith hesitated.

Lance’s hand did not waver.

Keith reached out and Lance grinned, clasping it and pulling him to his feet. “I’ve got your back, mullet,” he smiled. “And you’ve got mine.”

And saying so he gave said back a clap, released Keith’s hand with a squeeze and started the return trip across the beam, back wide open and vulnerable.

A show of complete and utter trust.

He trusted Keith after everything that had happened.

Something warm filled Keith. His lips pulled into a soft smile. 

And he followed. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Fic of the Month from July 2019; and voted one of the favorites of the FMs from last year from a recent poll. If you enjoyed the fic please consider leaving a comment and giving the author a little bit of that joy and happiness you hopefully experienced reading it to her for posting it. Thank you very much. (Edit: this will be the last FM posting on AO3.)  
> If you'd like to read more of my works and FMs like this be sure to check out my [Tumblr, icypantherwrites](https://icypantherwrites.tumblr.com/), for details.


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